Expiation
by railise
Summary: Gwen must save Arthur before a legion of spectres deals him a death blow. Post-S3. Winner of Best Characterisation of Arthur and Best Canon in the ag-fics/girlsavesboyfic Gwen Saves Arthur Co-Challenge, at LiveJournal.


**Warning: **Description of death from a wound.  
><strong>Prompts:<strong> - frayed rope; being falsely accused; "When the swords flash let no idea of love, piety, or even the face of your fathers move you" - _Julius Caesar_

**EXPIATION**

The atmosphere in the room began to thicken, distracting Arthur from the jagged edges of the shackles digging into his wrists. Whatever was in that potion they had forced down his throat was certainly not to help with pain, even though they had assured him it was not poison.

That reassurance was not very reassuring, seeing that moments before they made him drink it, he had been sentenced to die. At any rate, Arthur had no choice in whether or not he took the stuff; it now remained to be seen what happened as a result.

He was uncertain how something he had ingested would be affecting the chamber he was in, but as a fog was materializing within the tower room despite clear skies on the other side of the windows, he suspected that such was the case. He could feel the change in air pressure in his head, proving that it was not simply an illusion.

Surely, however, the fog beginning to take shape was a trick of the eyes. Perhaps, that was what the potion did: made the swirling clouds appear to form human outlines.

Human faces.

Arthur knew those faces, remembered each aof them. They did not haunt him, but he had never forgotten a single one. While that was not an intentional thing, nor did he think it was necessarily bad; it was part of what made him as willing as he was to take the lead against any foe of Camelot. These were faces of his people, citizens who depended on his army for protection, but to no avail. These were the ones they had not saved.

The last time he had seen any of them- the only time, in most cases- they had been stilled by death, not staring at him mournfully as they were now.

* * *

><p>Gwen's scream reverberated throughout the dungeon, slicing through narrow corridors and crashing off of thick, stone walls. When the guard came tearing into her cell, he found her bent down and clutching her chest.<p>

"Something's... wrong..." she panted.

When he leaned in to examine her, he was too preoccupied with her bodice to notice her other hand as it snaked toward his sword belt. "What is it?" he demanded.

"Your lord needs better guards," she said drolly, bringing the sword hilt down on his head and knocking him out cold.

And here, she had thought her dress would prove to be a hindrance in her escape attempt.

Jumping to her feet, she rushed as quietly as possible toward the door of the cell, finally grateful for the dank hay strewn over the floor, and peered out. As she recalled from when she was dragged down to the bowels of the keep, they apparently relied upon the location, as well as those guards stationed along the upper levels, to keep the prisoners in check. No other guards were in sight, and she could hear no signs of another anywhere nearby.

Still, she was cautious as she made her way along the narrow passageway that ran by several vacant cells, after binding and gagging the unconscious guard and relieving him of his sword. Gwen was glad for the lack of other dungeon occupants, as she could not have left anyone to moulder away down there, but needed to focus on finding Arthur.

She needed to hope that, whatever "The Thousand Deaths" was, she could stop it.

* * *

><p>"For the crime of murder, I sentence you, Arthur Pendragon, to The Thousand Deaths." The beefy man had glowered down at Arthur, who was being held in place by two equally brawny henchmen. At the back of the room, only one man had been required to subdue Gwen, while dozens more cheered at the pronouncement.<p>

Even in the face of such an overwhelming situation, Gwen was glad to hear Arthur try to remain rational. "I have never murdered anyone in my life," he replied calmly, yet projecting his voice enough to be heard by everyone in the large hall- a skill no doubt hammered into him from infancy. "I have faced men on the battlefield and tournament grounds, and I have defended myself and others; but, I have never committed a murder."

Lumbering to his feet, the lord tromped down from his seat to loom over Arthur. Gwen had thought that most of his size was due to the rough furs in which he was draped, but saw now that he was simply a giant of a man. "Maybe you'll change your tune when you hear my name."

Arthur's chin went up a regal notch. "And that is...?"

"I'm Traugott," the man growled.

"Hengist's brother?" A note of confusion crept into Arthur's voice. "I had nothing to do with Hengist's death; he was eaten by his wilderin."

"The way I heard it," Traugott said, "he would not have been in the wilderin cage, were it not for your interference in his game."

"If his _game _had not included an innocent woman, I would not have interfered," Arthur said tightly. It occurred to Gwen that his answer excluded Lancelot, but she was hardly about to speak up just then.

Traugott smiled coldly. "He admits his guilt!" the warlord proclaimed loudly, turning to walk back to his seat as cheers erupted again.

"I admit no such thing!" Arthur protested over the yells.

After easing heavily back into his chair, Traugott steepled his fingers beneath his chin as he eyed his prisoner, while his men grew quiet again. "You deny that you caused my brother to enter the wilderin cage?"

"I do. He entered that cage of his own accord." Arthur's tone was controlled once more.

Traugott studied Arthur for a long moment, and then lowered his hands to rest on the arms of his chair. "I disagree. You are responsible for the death of my brother, and as such, I sentence you to die. The potion!" As he held out his hand, another wide cheer went up. A man wearing a ragged livery ran over with a large vial, and placed it in Traugott's palm. Holding it up, he commanded, "Bring forth the condemned!"

The guards handling Arthur began to drag him forward, and Gwen struggled against the arms pinning her in place. "_Arthur!_"

She saw him stiffen at her cry, although his attention remained on their captor. "Let her go; she has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with it," Traugott countered. "My informants are sound, Pendragon, and I know that she was one of the two in that cage. But, if you're concerned that I intend to execute her, allow me to set your mind at ease; she will make her restitution to me in... other ways." As he began to laugh, a sound echoed by his men, Gwen tried again to pull away from the grip of her guard, to no avail. Arthur did look back at her then, the desperation on his face making her heart ache, and she stopped struggling. It would not help him to see her panic. Meeting his eyes, she did her best to convey reassurance- when she acknowledged the fruitlessness of that, she went for love, instead. They were unlikely to get out of this, but he should know that he had her heart to the end.

No rescue would be coming for them, after all. They thought they were so clever, sneaking away from Camelot for a day to themselves, not even telling Merlin where they were headed. And it would have been clever, had Traugott's men not been waiting in the woods for just such an opportunity...

Traugott removed the cork from the vial. "Hope you're thirsty," he taunted, as one of the men restraining Arthur reached over and pinched his captive's nose shut. "Don't worry," Traugott rumbled, leaning right up to Arthur's face. "It's not poison." He laughed loudly as Arthur finally had to open his mouth for air, then quickly grabbed the prince's jaw and forced the potion between his lips, clamping an enormous hand over the lower half of Arthur's face as soon as he yanked the empty vial away. When Arthur attempted to jerk away from the grip, Gwen could see that both his nose and mouth were securely blocked; he must be trying to spit the potion out, but only a few drops fell. Finally, he swallowed, but Traugott maintained his grip a bit longer, likely to make sure it was not a trick. When he moved away, Arthur gasped loudly, frantically regaining his breath.

"Take him to the tower," Traugott commanded. "And take her to the dungeon," he added, gesturing toward Gwen. "I'll deal with her later- we wouldn't want her screams drowning out his."

The grin he shot her way made a jolt of terror go through her, although her fear turned to resolution as the last thing she heard as she was dragged from the hall was Arthur yelling, "_Guinevere!_"

* * *

><p>Arthur wished the... what were they, anyway? Not people, exactly; spectres? Well, whatever they were, he wished they would stop staring at him and <em>do<em>something. Unless- were they supposed to stare him to death? That would be all right, as it would certainly take awhile, thus giving him time to figure out how to get out of these shackles and rescue Guinevere.

Perhaps, that was not how it was going to go. One of the figures in the front drifted forward, a woman he recalled seeing sprawled half out of the door to her cottage in one of the outlying villages when a griffin was attacking the countryside a few years prior. "I'm sorry," he said gently, although the fact that she was still very fog-like was making him rather anxious. He had no idea what, precisely, was going on, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

She did not seem to hear his apology. Drawing to a halt in front of him, she reached out and laid a wispy, cold hand on either side of his head-

-_Everyone was running, screaming; the ground shook as the beast galloped closer. Looking out the cottage doorway, he could see a small child freeze in the middle of the road, staring behind herself in horror. He ran, grabbing her up while the shadow of the beast blocked out the bright sunshine as it briefly took flight. Then he, too, momentarily froze, gaping up at the fearsome sight and knowing there was nothing he could do to protect himself. The child whimpered, spurring him back into action; and he ran back to the cottage as the beast dove back toward earth, back toward them... He was just over the threshold when a searing pain shot through his midsection, and he instinctively pushed the little girl away from himself and gasped, "Hide." His eyes dropped, and he was shocked to see something sticking out from his chest- a talon, he thought._

_As it was jerked away, so was he, but he grabbed the door frame before being yanked through it. The beast moved on as the pain blossomed into a hot numbness, which then gave way to a lethargy. It began in his fingers and toes, and weirdly, the tips of his ears, spreading inward rather than outward. He could not breathe, struggling for air, and realized that noises were beginning to sound distant. The screams outside were muted, the wet thudding of his blood into the dirt floor faded away. His legs were numb now, no longer able to support him, and he staggered forward before losing the ability to stand __altogether. Liquid bubbled up, filling his mouth as he fell forward. The dirt underneath his cheek began to grow dim, and he wondered why this was happening, how it could have happened... he had not wanted much from life, just to raise a family in this place, near where he had grown up... was that too much to hope for? His chest seized up, and as everything went black, he tried to grasp onto life... he did not want to die... he felt so afraid, so alone-_

_and then, he was dead-_

Arthur came back to the world in a rush of air and light. His head felt just this side of exploding, as if he had been holding his breath for far too long, and a pain in his chest was beginning to fade. The spectre dropped her hands from his head as he stared at her in shock. The expression in her eyes told him that she knew he had experienced her death, and while he wanted to express his sympathy, he was still too startled- still recovering from the sorrow and fear that had flooded her in her last moment.

That had flooded him.

She floated back, and Arthur saw another figure drift forward. This one, he recognized as a man of Camelot, a resident of the lower town, lost to Sigan's gargoyles. "Wait," Arthur requested breathlessly, still under the effects of the woman's death.

As with his apology to the village woman, Arthur's plea seemed to fall on deaf ears. The spectral man reached out, placing his hands on either side of Arthur's head.

* * *

><p>Gwen's gamble had paid off, and she started up the cobwebby staircase carefully, doing her best not to set fire to some of the thicker ones with the torch she had grabbed from a wall sconce. Rather than retracing the route by which she was brought to the dungeon, down a staircase off of the main entrance-at the top of which had been stationed several guards- she had gone in the opposite direction. Dungeons may be well-protected, but almost every area of a castle had a servants' stair. One of Camelot's strong suits was that its dungeon did not.<p>

Of course, Camelot's dungeon led to tunnels and other escape routes; but, even if she did find something resembling that down here, she would not attempt it. Arthur was to be executed in a tower room, so she must go up, not get lost in an underground labyrinth.

Apparently, in this barbarous keep, the etiquette of a back stairway was not observed. A thick layer of dust and grime covered the uneven stones, and she was glad for the torch, seeing all sorts of leggy _things _scuttling along the walls and ceiling, away from the flame.

Coming around a corner, she could see daylight illuminating the area up ahead, and extinguished the torch in the dirt beside her before going any further. Tiptoeing higher, she found that the light came from a window opening over a landing. From here, she could either continue her ascent, or try a corridor that lay through a doorless arch beside her.

Gwen closed her eyes, trying to consider what she had seen of the keep. Since they did not intend for either her or Arthur to leave, they had not been blindfolded after their capture- however, they had been flung across the horses they were brought on, rather than sitting upright. She knew she had glimpsed the ramshackle exterior... yes. She was not sure what lay at the rear of the keep, but there had been one slim tower at each corner of the front, and one of those was half-crumbled. While it was possible that there was a room in use there, she doubted it.

And, unless she was completely turned around, she thought that this stairwell would take her to the full tower, or very near to it.

Opening her eyes and hoping she was right, she began to climb the stairs again. After passing two more landings (and darting out of sight when she heard voices not far off from the last landing), she came to the end of the stairs. There was only a corridor from here, and she figured that made sense; there was likely to only be one set of stairs up the tower.

That also meant that she was likely to run into guards. She had been taking that chance all along, but realizing that it was now a probability made her queasy. She had been practicing sword work with Arthur, building on what she already knew from growing up around weaponry, but facing these enemies- men who reveled in cruelty- was _not _something she felt prepared to do.

She hardly had a choice, however, and after drawing a steadying breath, she edged down the corridor, past a few musty storerooms, their doors half-open, cobwebs and dust suggesting that they were used no more frequently than the servants' stairs. Hearing a shuffling noise as she approached a corner, she peered around it. A singular sentry stood at the base of a set of stairs, which had to lead to the tower. If there was only one at the bottom, there were probably more at the top... perhaps, she could lure them all away at once.

Wracking her brain, Gwen's eyes fell on the extinguished torch in her hand, and she smiled to herself.

* * *

><p><em>He watched as the arrow quivered with each of his heartbeats, wishing it had hit him anywhere else, because in addition to the pain, in addition to the knowledge that he was about to die, that sight was just bizarre. The movements became fainter, slower, and were gone as he slumped, his breath leaving him. He wished Berta had let him see her in her wedding dress, instead of saving it for a ceremony which now would never happen... he loved her so much...<em>

Arthur jerked as the spectral knight stepped back and life returned to him once more. Sir Elwyn's sorrow was one with which he could keenly sympathize, the other man's sweetheart replaced in his mind by an image of Guinevere. He had to get out of here, had to save her from Traugott. Yet, before he could even consider how to deal with the shackles holding him to the wall, before the pain from Sir Elwyn's arrow wound faded completely, another fog-person stepped forward, an old woman who had died when Nimueh poisoned the water supply. He tried to beg for a respite, but could not draw enough breath to speak.

He was feeling weaker after each encounter, and as the woman reached toward him, he wondered how many more he could withstand...

* * *

><p>"<em>Fire!<em>"

The guard from the bottom of the tower stairs raised the call, and two more followed him within moments. As they ran into the storeroom nearest the servants' stairs, Gwen hurried out of the one at the other end of the corridor and dashed up toward the tower. Belatedly, it occurred to her that the door might be locked, and she let out a sigh of relief to find that it was not.

Her relief gave way to disbelief when she stepped into the chamber and closed the door behind herself.

The space was crammed full of ghostly people. Through them, she could see Arthur at the other end of the room, a wispy old woman holding his face, which-

-which was taking on the hues that her father's face had, when he was poisoned by the witch.

"Arthur!"

He did not acknowledge that she had spoken, but the spectres closest to her did. Whereas all of them had been staring at Arthur a moment before, several of them turned to Gwen. Their gazes unsettled her, yet she only had a moment to feel that before they came at her, fingers bent like claws, mouths open wider than was humanly possible in silent screams, eyes accusing.

Without thinking, Gwen covered her head with one arm and swiped at them with the sword. When nothing happened, she cautiously peeked up- and watched as the figures who had attacked her dissipated into the air. She had no idea how that had worked, but tried it again as more of them turned to attack, with the same result.

It was a large room, and there were hundreds of the spectres inside it, but Gwen swiped away at them, making her way toward Arthur. Glancing up as she cut through another group of the spirits, she saw the old woman lower her hands from Arthur's head. A moment later, he jolted, his eyes flying open as he began to breathe again and normal color returned to his face. As the spirit stepped away from him, he suddenly noticed Gwen. His lips parted slightly, but before he could say a word, another spirit stepped up, a tall, lanky man. His hands replaced those of his predecessor, and Arthur's gaze clouded over as a spectral pike materialized in his abdomen. Blood began to stream from the wound, disappearing before it hit the floor.

Gwen was so horrified that she forgot about her own foes, and suddenly realized that there was a diaphanous hand on the side of her head, another about to settle on her other temple. Jumping backward, she sliced through the air with her stolen blade, and the young woman dispersed, another two taking her place. Now that she knew what they were capable of, Gwen made sure not to let any more of them touch her; if both she and Arthur were besieged, they would never escape.

It became harder to fend them off when she began to recognize some of their faces. She knew some of them, they had been friends and neighbors in Camelot... all of them dead, lost to the many assaults the kingdom had endured over the years. She could not imagine why they would be attacking either Arthur or herself, and knew it could not truly be them. That conclusion enabled her to cut through their translucent forms...

...until one person in particular loomed in front of her.

At the familiar face, she faltered. "Father?" she whispered.

His hands were not clawed, but were the big, comforting hands which had held her when she was sad, hugged her when she was happy, cared for her when she was sick. His mouth was not gaping, his eyes were not accusing; they were looking at her fondly. He reached for her-

-and that was when she saw the wound in his belly.

"You are not my father," she said thickly, but she still had to turn her head away as she sliced through his form.

It took a few more minutes for her to reach Arthur, and he was just regaining consciousness as she cut down the final spectre. Glancing around to make sure she had not missed any, she then turned to his shackles as he watched her dully. Pulling out the pins that held them shut, she dropped the metal cuffs and assessed his wrists, rubbed raw.

"Can you move?" she asked gently, worried that they would not be able to escape; there was no way she could carry him out. He nodded weakly, and stumbled heavily after her toward the door. As she reached it, she could hear voices below. "They're coming."

Swaying a little on his feet where he had stopped, Arthur gestured toward the wooden plank leaning nearby. "Bar," he muttered, and she quickly retrieved it, dropping it into the metal brackets on either side of the door as footsteps began pounding up the stairs.

"We're trapped," she murmured anxiously.

"Window?" he asked, scanning the room.

Gwen ran over to the nearest window as the first _thud _sounded on the door. "Sheer cliff," she said, assessing the drop before going to the opposite wall. After peering out of that window, she turned to him excitedly. "Maybe this one. There are good handholds, and the ground comes up higher on this side."

A more resolute _thud _shook the door as she helped Arthur over to look out the window. "Best chance," he agreed quietly. "The chandelier- rope."

Seeing what he meant when she looked at the cobwebbed light fixture, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Good thinking." He gave her a smile that was no less genuine for being rather weak, and then she loosened the rope from the bracket on the wall. Lowering the chandelier down, she pulled the rope free from its anchor in the ceiling and dragged it over to the window.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" she asked doubtfully.

The door shook under another heavy blow. "Not much choice," he replied wryly, straightening from the wall he was leaning against as she dropped the rope out. "I'll go first."

Looking at him in surprise, she realized he meant, _in case I fall_. "You can catch me when I jump, then," she teased.

He gave her a look, but said nothing more as he went over to the windowsill. The chandelier should support their weight, but if not, it would not fit through the window and could act as a mooring that way.

Hiking her skirts to free her feet, Gwen followed. The climb down did not take too long, but it felt like eons, and she felt like she had barely breathed the entire time once they were safely on the ground.

"Stables are there," Arthur told her when she stepped away from the rope, nodding to their right and taking her hand. She ended up having to act as a support as he swung onto one of the horses, but he was all right once he was seated, and they spurred their mounts in the direction of Camelot.

* * *

><p>"According to Gaius, The Thousand Deaths is one of the most terrible magic curses there is," Merlin told them the next evening. Arthur was settled in his bed, Guinevere sitting beside him, and when Merlin brought supper up, he also brought news. Eying Arthur uncertainly, he continued with some hesitation. "There's a potion that summons figures of the dead- people whose deaths the victim..." He trailed off.<p>

"'The victim,' what?" Guinevere prompted. Arthur gave her hand a squeeze.

"Feels guilt over." Merlin's gaze darted to Arthur, then away, reminding Arthur once more that his manservant knew him better than Arthur occasionally gave him credit for. "It's not the actual deceased person, more like a copy, of sorts. When they touch someone, they make that person live their death. The victim actually does die with each touch, revived as soon as each death plays out, but weakening more every time. By the time the final death is visited on them, they are too frail to revive; the final death claims the victim, too. But, you will recover within a few days, Arthur."

Arthur could well believe how the curse played out, although he was not about to say so. "Why did the sword work on them?" Gwen asked after a pause.

"Ah, right- the sword," Merlin said with a smile. "Steel is made of iron, and iron repels spirits. Although they are not true visitations from the dead, they're the same basic idea, and affected by the same things."

All three of them fell silent again, processing all that had happened. Finally, Merlin got to his feet. "I should let you rest, sire."

After he left, Arthur said softly, "You saved my life. Thank you."

"As you have done for so many of us," Guinevere replied, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "You're a good prince, Arthur; you should not carry so much guilt. You do what you can, and we all know that."

"I am better with you at my side," he replied, smiling warmly at her. He would consider the implications of guilt later; for now, he just wanted to rest.

With a gentle laugh, she laid her head on his shoulder. "I cannot argue that."


End file.
